


I Came Running

by Literal_Antique_Trash



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: I'm so sorry, M/M, Poor Ford, Rape, bad stuff, bill why, i am not a nice girl to him at all, poor stan, trash can't do tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 01:20:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6402718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literal_Antique_Trash/pseuds/Literal_Antique_Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was love that drove Stanley to dive in front of Stanford, taking blows that bruised and words that cut like knives. It was love that kept him quiet and placid under his father’s hands, smiling softly at the other as he shook in the corner. And it was love that let him soothe Stanford, cradling him in injured, shaking arms as he whispered sweet murmurs into slightly too big ears with bleeding, quivering lips. Bruises and tears were nothing compared to the warmth and light of Stanford’s love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Came Running

_The night is sweltering; producing the kind of heat that one would usually find as they trudged through the dry, blistering desert. Like the sickly sweet heat of a fever, it traveled, sinking into bone and sinew- dragging you through its unbearable fire and peeling away the skin like it was nothing but paper. It was all encompassing, discreetly surrounding you in its warmth, only to ruin your body as it boiled you to the bone._

_And they loathed it._

_Vagrants moaned weakly through throats that ached, curling pitifully from their stagnant state on the road. Prowling men pulled at their collars, cursing as they slipped sweat covered twenties into the hands of equally sweaty girls. They joined hands and the giggling girls lead them away, off to create more heat. Shaking hands grasped the needle, cursing in high, needy voices as the plastic slipped from his palms. The sound of whirling fans were similar to the swarming of bees, buzzing almost silently in the dusty streets._

_But Stanley loved it._

_He adored the buzzing sound of silence, filling his mind with lovely static as he took another swig of his whiskey. Staring at the asbestos covered ceiling, he pondered the meaning of his empty life._

_His name was Stanley Pines._

_Stanley Pines, Stanley Pines, Stanley Pines- the black, festering stain of the Pines name._

_But… who was Stanley Pines? What did he do? What has lead him to this point in life, where he laid bare and bruised under chipping paint and drinking his sorrows away?_

_He could tell his story simply._

_He’d lived the first seventeen years of his life, happy and loved by the only person he’d ever come to love- his brother. His twin, the one and only person who’d ever know Stanley better than he knew himself. In his earliest memories, he could see himself curled around Stanford, his five fingered hand clutching a six fingered one in a tight, gentle grip. He could remember the warm feeling of Stanford’s smiles, going from gummy to filled with sparkling white teeth._

_It was love that drove Stanley to dive in front of Stanford, taking blows that bruised and words that cut like knives. It was love that kept him quiet and placid under his father’s hands, smiling softly at the other as he shook in the corner. And it was love that let him soothe Stanford, cradling him in injured, shaking arms as he whispered sweet murmurs into slightly too big ears with bleeding, quivering lips. Bruises and tears were nothing compared to the warmth and light of Stanford’s love._

_It was love of the simplest kind- that needed no explanation. A love that was more than love- one that shone brighter than the stars in the sky._

_Then came the heat of Stanford’s kisses- changing in meaning as they grew. They had found solace in each others arms, staring into twin honey eyes with nothing but the sweetest, truest affection. Strong arms circled a lean waist, lips meeting lips at the rickety helm of the Stan o’ War._

_And they had made love. Stanford had cradled **him** ,his arms wrapped around Stanley’s waist as he took him. There was a gentleness that Stanley had longed for and craved like a dying man in the desert needing water._

_Then came the day it all fell apart._

_The pain still festered like a wound; staring into Stanford’s anguished eyes as he yelled at Stanley. Words of hurt and malice slipped past lips that had once whispered adoring confessions of love. He felt the scalding heat of Filbrick’s hands- marking and hurting and taking away everything he’d ever known. His mother’s confused, sad face and Shermie’s crying burned into his mind. The sharp pain of his elbows and knees hitting cold concrete and a dirty, sock scented gym bag landing on his chest had been engraved into his heart._

_And then he’d been left alone. Alone to live on the streets, scamming and scheming by in a world that looked down on him. Then- after many, many unsuccessful years- he was here._

_No longer was he the young, wet behind the ears child that had loved so easily. He spent his days working the oddest of jobs- anything to scrape up the extra cash. Maybe it would buy dinner for today, and others- if he was lucky. Maybe it would buy him another coat, seeing as the one he had been used down to its last threads. It could pay for the night in a one-star motel; letting him take advantage of a grimy shower and a mattress covered in various stains._

_Nights were always much worse. He would become one of those giggling creatures that loitered, waiting for the next man. He held hands of various shapes and sizes, leading them to pleasure and release. He would let them grip his hips in a way that was a little too tight and turn into mouths that bit down a little too rough. Most of these encounters would involve tears and blood- along with whimpered moans that were not genuine in the least._

_And Stanley would leave, limping with a stack of cash in one hand and his bleeding, aching heart in the other._

* * *

Now he laid on that grimy mattress, staring up at the ceiling as he pondered his existence.

The knock at the door had been a surprise, to say the least. Grabbing his old, well loved Louisville Slugger, he slowly tip-toed to the door. He skittered back as something was slid under the door.  
  
“Gee Ma, you could have just called…” Stanley grumbled fondly, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. 

His mother had always been a surprising woman- managing to find Stanley where ever and when ever. His suspicion about her had risen immensely when he’d been sat in a Colombian prison and a package had been thrown at his chest. It had been filled with sweets and a very long, neatly written lecture. Then there’d been the time he was in the hospital in Pennsylvania, fighting for his life. A customer had gotten too violent and had left him bleeding out, clutching his bleeding stomach. 

He woke up in the hospital bed, lying still and drugged up to his gills to deal with the pain of almost being disemboweled. His Ma had been there- really been there- stroking his hair as she talked to the doctor. But she’d been gone by the time he’d woken up again. The doctor had told him that she wished him well.

Maybe his Ma was a psychic after all.

His brow furrowed as he picked up the item. He had expected to see Glass Shard’s sunny shores staring back at him, a taunting reminder of what he couldn’t have. Yet he stared at a wooded scene, bright orange letters spelling out _Gravity Falls_ in a cheery font. Flipping it around, he almost dropped it in surprise.  
  
 _It was from Stanford._

And unbridled, unadulterated hope bubbled in his chest- nearly choking him with its almost liquid taste. Wait- he blinked a bit, shaking his head- no, that was bile. He really needed to stop drinking. Swallowing it down with a grimace, he read and re-read the postcard, his brows going lower with each sweep of his eyes. He focused on the hastily written words- so different from the almost perfect penmanship that Stanley was used to seeing. If he looked at it from far away, Stanley would have thought that it was him who had wrote it- not Stanford. 

“Come now? That’s all he’s got to say after ten years?” Stan asked with a huff, offended at the scrawl.  
  
Ten years and all Ford has to say was ‘Come now’? There was enough room on the postcard to write a simple please or I miss you. 

Sighing, he dropped the bat, sitting heavily on the weakly supported mattress. It creaked under his weight and he frowned, flopping back and staring back up at the ceiling. Picking up the forgotten bottle, he took a long, slow swig.  
  
 _It was going to be a long 20 hours to Oregon._

* * *

About 1,200 miles, countless stops, and six panic attacks later- Stanley had finally arrived in Gravity Falls. It was nice, Stanley observed as he drove through the secluded mountain town. The people seemed friendly and the buildings all had a particularly homey look to them. All in all, the town seemed perfectly normal- even if Stanley thought he’d seen gnomes proposing to a squirrel. Chuckling, he turned down the road a fella named “Manly Dan” had pointed him down.   
  
It had lead him into the forest.  
  
“Figures you’d live in the middle of the woods.” Stanley muttered with a small grin.

Cutting the engine, he sat in the car, watching as snow danced through the air until it landed on the hood, melting. Shaking his head, he opened the door and stepped out, pulling his thin jacket closer to himself. He picked his way through the snow, frowning as the cold soaked into his ratty jeans, freezing his legs. Quickly scurrying over to the porch, he lifted a fist to knock on the door…

* * *

_It worked! It had really worked!_

_A broken, relieved laugh bubbled up in his chest as he stared up at the swirling mass of light. It called to him, crooning praises in sweet tones and beckoning him forward. He almost listened, stopping when **he** soothed and cooed in his own honey tones. _

_“Ford? Are y’okay?” Came the thick, southern drawl from his right._  
  
Turning, he let his own gaze meet Fiddleford’s worried one and he attempted a smile that was weak and twitched to many times to be genuine. 

_Fiddleford had went through. He rambled nonsense to Ford with eyes as wide as saucers- dilated to an almost extreme degree. He spoke of a world of nightmares- one that lived for_ the fear and the weird Stanford! You have to shut it down!

_The other left after that, leaving Stanford alone and vulnerable._

_He had to shut it down._

* * *

_**He waited silently. It wouldn’t be long now, Stanley was already on his way. He could finally knock them down a peg.** _

* * *

_“Take it and go!”_

_A book is shoved into his hands, as cold and heavy as the weight in his chest._

_He shoved the book into Stanley’s hands. A sense of crazed glee and fear filled his heart as **he** screeched, struggling and fighting to break free._

_“_ _That’s all you called me for?”_

_And’s he frowning, gritting his teeth in a sharp, aching motion as his heart shatters into pieces. He tightens his grip on the journal, fighting the urge to run- flee back to the blistering Arizona desert and letting it soothe his hurt._

_”Listen to me Stanley!” He’s shouting, wailing almost hysterically, grabbing his twin and pushing him away, away from **him**.”You need to leave! Go, please- I can’t- you have to- **he** -” _

_And the weight of dual broken hearts is heavy in the room, as palpable and easily felt as slime hitting skin. And then, silence._  
  
A punch being thrown, hitting a sharp jaw with an audible crack. A whimper, then a growl. They can’t tell from who, but it leads to more violence. They fought like rabid animals, snarling and foaming at the mouth. The smell of burning flesh and a scream of pain, raw and honest. A stuttered apology. A growled yell as they tumble to the ground.  
  
”Oh Moses- I-I’m sorry Stanley!” 

_A push that sends him sprawling, his elbow hitting the switch. Yet it doesn’t activate and he falls to the ground. A silence filled the room like a shroud, making Stanley back away as Stanford’s body twists._  
  
Then the shine of crazed glee as he stands, looking down at Stanley. 

* * *

Stanley stared up at Stanford, slowly backing away from his twin in fear. There was a gleam in his brown eyes, something calculating and threatening. The smile was harsh, razor sharp in it’s dangerous intent. His posture had changed completely; going from the hunched, timid form to confident and deadly.  
  
“Ford?” His voice is small and tight with the fear that claws at his throat. 

Stanford chuckles, but the sound is rough- like the sound of crunching glass. He takes of his glasses, running a hand through his curls as a smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

“You gullible little boy.” He cooed, dropping straight into Stanley’s lap. 

It makes Stanley grunt in surprise. He stares into Stanford’s eyes, flinching as Stanford cups his cheek. His hand is cold against Stan’s warmed skin, making him shiver.  
  
“You’re so cute when you’re scared.” Stanford purred, using his other hand to curl around Stanley’s neck. “You should have left when you had the chance.”

And Stanley doesn’t understand. The hairs on the back of his neck stand straight as fear crawls down his spine. He opens his mouth to question- _to ask why Stanford, why are you doing this?_  Yet nothing but a choked whimper leaves his bleeding lips as Stanford’s hand slowly crushes his windpipe. Stanford is grinning at him, his eyes bright and pleased as he leans in close, kissing Stanley roughly. 

It’s all teeth and an unforgiving tongue, diving into Stanley’s quivering mouth and taking. Stanley weakly pushes against Stanford’s chest, trying to focus around the haze that invades his vision. But it is smothering- cruel and unyielding as Stanford growls low in chest, tightening his grip until Stanley is keening and nearly limp. Then the pressure is gone.  
  
He sputters, gasping through a throat that stings and bruises like a peach. They line the delicate skin, creating a ring of reds and purples- a collar that Stanford had made. Stanley breathes raggedly; high, wheezing whimpers breaking from his vocal cords as his hands pushed at the ground. It makes Stanford laugh loudly, his voice an ugly parody of the laugh Stanley had once dreamed of.   
  
“Ford…?” He asks, so incredibly afraid of his twin.   
  
Stanford granted him a saccharine sweet grin, leaning forward and trailing a cold- an oh so cold- hand down his cheek. The look on his face is amused as Stanley flinches, a whimper leaving his lips. His hands come up to clumsily paw at Stanford’s hand, pushing against the muscle in a feeble attempt to move it.  
  
“It didn’t have to come to this,” Stanford said with a small sigh, using his other hand to walk his fingers around Stanley’s chest, “if he’d only listened to me the first time, I wouldn’t have had to take such drastic measures.”   
  
Stanley stared up at Stanford in confusion, his eyes scrunched and his mouth parting slightly. Who was this ‘he’? And what did he have to do with Stanley? He was going to ask, but cried out as Stanford’s hand scratched down his face- taking skin and blood that bunched under uncut fingernails. A tongue licked at the bubbling liquid, burning the aching area.  
  
“But this is so much more fun.” He purred, licking away a tear as it trailed down Stanley’s cheek,  ** _“Tell Stanford I said to watch out.”_  **

Stanford flips Stanley around, listening to the weak pleas of protest and pain as he pulled the younger man’s pants down, letting them pool at his knees. Stanley struggled valiantly, but Stanford was too strong- much stronger than Stanley.   
  
It makes Stanley want to die. He moaned, long and low in agonized despair as Stanford’s hand grips at his hair and pulls hard enough to pull it out- pointing his face at the ceiling as the sound of a belt being undone rings like cannon fire in the quiet room. A sob hitches in his chest, spilling unbidden as the blunt head of Stanford’s cock pokes at his dry, unprepared entrance.   
  
“Ford please- don’t!” He cries, flinching as the other laughed.  
  
And the pain is familiar, but entirely new all at once as he howls, trying so hard- so so hard- to get away. Gone were the memories of lips being pressed to skin that quivered with pleasure- replaced with the memories of a grunting stranger and the cash he held in a vice like grip. The sound of Stanford’s murmurs- sweet and loving- are replaced with grunted curses and hisses of pleasure as he rips Stanley. The blood trickling down his thighs brings him back to decaying motel rooms and filthy alleyways. Teeth and tongue attack his skin, tracing over scars that had been made in the name of staying alive. 

And it broke his heart. 

* * *

**“Stop hurting him! Please, I’ll fix the portal! Stop!”  
  
He is shrieking, watching as the other breaks Stanley before his eyes. **

**There is blood on his cock- Stanley’s blood- and he wants to vomit. Stanley is sobbing quietly, feebly relaxing his body in order to alleviate the pain and hurry the process. It’s a practiced movement, he notices in horror. Whimpers leave the other’s lips as Bill cackles, biting yet another mark into Stanley’s bleeding body.  
  
Bill moves at an unforgiving pace, rutting like an animal in order to achieve the orgasm that rips through his body like a shot from a gun. And his seed burns Stanley, gaining a sharp, raspy cry of pain as it hits his insides. **

**He feels as broken as Stanley is.**

* * *

Stanford pulled out, letting Stanley slump to the floor in a puddle of bodily fluids as he shakes his hand of any hair that Stanley had left.   
  
And it is quiet as **he** leaves, letting Stanford slip back into his skin with a self satisfied chuckle. Stanford- the real Stanford- stares down at the shattered man. 

“Stanley?” He whispered, his voice thick with the tears that had started to brim in his eyes.

But Stanley only flinches away, a wounded keen escaping his shaking body as he dragged himself to curl into a ball.   
  
“I’m so sorry.” He sobs, but it is unknown which twin the words had originated from.   
  
Everything had fallen apart. 

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys like this! Please go check out my tumblr for more and to ask me any questions!
> 
> Literal-antique-trash


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